


The Man in the Wolf

by fojee



Series: Tip the Scales [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-01
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-11-13 08:16:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/501384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fojee/pseuds/fojee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is almost used to having things change on him. But he never saw this one coming. And neither did Derek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to "The Wolf in the Man" and contains some references to previous events. Tenses are a mess; I really suck at writing present tense. Unbetaed. AU for Season Two. Rest might be slow in coming. You've been warned.
> 
> In which hearts are broken, we find out that Derek has a Past, and some truths come to light. (And can I get any more vague?)

Stiles thinks he is dreaming when he feels someone slip in behind him on the bed. It’s cool for a summer night, so he moves until his back is flush with someone else’s. _Derek_ , his half-awake brain supplies. Derek slips an arm around him and he hums in pleasure. And then there’s _someone else_ nuzzling at his jaw just under his chin, and he jerks back, suddenly wide awake. 

“What the—?”

Derek holds him in place. “It’s okay,” he murmurs right into Stiles’ ear. In the light of the moon—about four days from reaching fullness; Stiles keeps count—he can see the planes of Jackson’s face, now averted and preternaturally still. He starts to protest, but Derek covers his mouth. “It’s for the Pack. To make us whole.”

Stiles grabs Derek’s hand and pulls it away. “Then Scott should be here.”

“Scott’s still struggling with his place in my pack,” Derek says evenly. “He’s still too attached to the humans in his life: Allison, his mom, you. You two have been Pack long before he was bitten, so this will also help him.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, still only half-buying it, but he settles down and lets Jackson get closer. “If he ever joins in, I’m going to need a bigger bed,” he mutters. 

It’s awkward, but not too much, mostly because Jackson is keeping his mouth shut, and his hands mostly to himself. 

Stiles falls asleep to the rhythm of Derek’s heart.

\---

It’s just before sunrise and Stiles wakes up to a Derek-shaped blanket smothering him. Jackson’s just plastered all over his right side. He tries to push Derek off. “I’m going to the hospital today.” Scott’s mom had told him that Lydia woke up the day before. “You should come, too, Jackson.”

Jackson licks the back of his neck, which makes him yelp and panic. “What was that?” But then Derek does the same, and he shuts up and shudders, a reaction he knows the two werewolves do not miss. 

“Scenting. Marking you as ours.” 

Stiles snorts quietly, but he knows he’s blushing. Ever since Derek went feral, they’ve become… _something_. He’s not in a hurry to define it. But having Jackson there, too… just makes it more real somehow. Also, usually Derek was gone by dawn so this morning-after thing is all kinds of awkward.

Derek senses his embarrassment—the red ears are _not_ a dead giveaway—and slides out of bed. He’s fully clothed, but his shirt is thin enough that Stiles can see the points of his nipples and the dips of his cut abs. He pulls his eyes away with supreme effort just in time to catch Jackson’s smirk. 

They’re both by the window when he catches up and tries his spiel again. “I was serious, Jackson. Lydia’s probably calling for you by now. I mean, she was thinking about you before… you know. So if she at least sees your face…”

Jackson looks to Derek, who nods faintly. “Fine,” he grits his teeth. “I’ll be there in half an hour.”

Stiles wants to lift his arms in a victory sign, but settles for a goofy smile. He ignores Derek’s unhappy growl. 

School’s out so he should be spending more time visiting Lydia at the hospital, but between Derek’s home improvement project (Oh my God! Finally!) and Pack meetings, he just doesn’t have the time. It was hard enough explaining to his father that he was doing manual labor over at the Hale house when Derek can only pay them in meals. Oh, that went over _so well._

But the house was almost half-way through, with a roof and everything, what with all the super-powered help. And Stiles is almost used to waking up stiff as a board, muscles hardened like concrete. Except on nights that Derek sleeps over. 

In the meantime, Lydia Martin is probably bored out of her skull at the hospital and might welcome a distraction. 

Even months after, Stiles still cannot forget the sight of her lying on the lacrosse field, with her torn dress and all the blood, and Peter Hale standing over her. So maybe he needs a little reassurance too. 

\---

_Of course_ Lydia asks for Jackson. That’s the whole point of bringing him, isn’t it? It doesn’t hurt any less, though, when Stiles is all but ignored by the girl of his dreams. He watches through the open doorway as Jackson stands over her bed, arms crossed, face like granite. They both look unhappy. And then Jackson turns his back on Lydia and Stiles sees his eyes flash blue. 

On pure instinct, he sprints inside and grabs Jackson’s arm. On the bed, Lydia is crying, but her voice is strong, a little raw, and knife-sharp. “You’re so good at pushing people away, Jackson. You’ll end up with nobody. No mommy and daddy. No friends.” 

Jackson’s hands are clenched into fists, and Stiles is close enough to see them turn to claws. 

“Lydia, shut up!” Stiles commands, and for a second she does. He doesn’t know which one of them is more shocked at his daring. 

Jackson breathes in and out, barely hanging to the shreds of his control. He leans his forehead against Stiles’ shoulder and lets the transferred scent of Derek fill his senses.

“Don’t tell me you’re replacing me with Stiles Stilinski,” Lydia retorts, after regaining her composure. “Because that is the most humiliating thing you can do to me.”

“Of course not. He said I’m not his type,” Stiles denies automatically, then turns to Jackson. “What, you didn’t tell her?”

“Tell me what? I swear to God, Stilinski…” 

Stiles almost blurts it out, but Jackson grabs his wrist tight enough that the bones creak. “We bonded in our shared worry over you,” Stiles rushes to say. “I mean, it’s not like we’re best friends now or anything…”

“If he’s so worried about me, why is he breaking up with me?” Lydia’s voice cracks. 

Jackson remains silent, still trying to regain his equilibrium. His eyes are closed and his nostrils flared.

_Since when did I become a werewolf whisperer?_ Stiles asks himself, not for the first time. “I don’t know, but I do know he cares for you, Lydia, or else he wouldn’t be here. Look I think everyone’s feeling a little too raw and it’s not a good time for this conversation. We should go and let you rest. We—and by we, I mean the two of you—can talk again when, you know, everything’s more calm.”

Lydia doesn’t answer back, which just proves Stiles’ point that she’s still exhausted. He marches Jackson out past the nurses’ station and into the parking lot. “What the hell was that about? You couldn’t have waited until she was on her feet before dumping her? And why won’t you tell her the truth?”

“She doesn’t remember that night,” Jackson says roughly.

“So we’re all just gonna lie to her?” Stiles demands. “She’s the smartest girl in school, Jackson. That’s _not_ a good idea.”

“Derek said hunters aren’t always as reasonable as Allison’s dad. Some of them would kill werewolves on sight. Some of them wouldn’t hesitate to kill humans, too. Do you really want her to be a part of this?”

Stiles opens his mouth but closes it again without anything to say, so Jackson continues. “She’s meant for something better than Beacon Hills. She’s going to do great things, Stiles. You don’t think I know that?”

“She loves you,” Stiles finally chokes out.

“She’ll get over me. And it’s the best way I know to protect her.”

Stiles thinks of his dad, and that no matter how hard it is to keep lying to him, it must be done. “Fine,” he says wearily. “But we still don’t know why she survived the bite without changing.”

Jackson shakes his head. “I guess she’s immune.”

“Huh,” Stiles said. His mind goes a mile a minute thinking of black plagues and flu shots and small pox. But he doesn’t say a word.

\---

Somehow they manage to work around it. 

Allison accompanies Lydia while they’re working at Derek’s place. Or else Danny does: Danny, who is freshly-dumped and who seems to be taking it even harder than Lydia. 

Jackson’s been mum about it, and Stiles, for once, doesn’t want to bring it up, not when they’re off hauling sacks of cement or wielding hammers and shovels. It’s not like he’s waiting in the wings for Lydia to get over Jackson and see _him_ for once. He’s been waiting forever, it feels like, but sometime between Peter clawing Lydia up and Stiles leaving her behind, between facing up to Chris Argent and helping kill the psycho Alpha, he’s changed. He sneaks a look at Derek’s back. They _all_ have.

The house most of all. It’s stupid but he often finds himself beaming up at it on breaks. They’ve been working off the original blueprints, maybe changing a few things here and there, and it fascinates Stiles to watch Jackson and Derek bent over the plans. Apparently, Derek worked construction back in New York. 

And that is just _cruel_ , to tease Stiles with a tidbit of Derek’s past and not follow-through. He and Derek have been better at talking nowadays but they still mostly stick to werewolf-related shit. Everything else, especially everything to do with _feelings_ , has to be extracted with pliers. 

Scott throws a can of ice tea at him, and he fumbles at it for a second before dropping it on the grass. Jackson laughs. “What the fuck, dude?” Stiles demands, though he scoops it up and rubs it on his shirt before pulling the tab and drinking deep. 

“Nothing. You just looked like you were thinking too hard,” Scott says. “What’s up? Are you missing school already?”

They’re on break, and Allison’s there with fried chicken and mashed potatoes from the nearest diner. Stiles doesn’t really want to talk about Lydia so he blurts another question that’s been floating in his head awhile. 

“What would you do, if you could find a cure?” He throws the question out. “I mean, I know Jackson chose this, so he doesn’t care, but what about you, Scott? And Derek? If you could go back to being normal, would you want to?”

Scott sighs, scratches his jaw and sits down on a long bench beside Allison. “Maybe. It would solve a lot of problems, that’s for sure. And I hate lying to my mom. But at the same time, it’ll be hard to give this up.” He makes a gesture, and Stiles interprets ‘this’ as both the powers and the pack. 

Derek remains silent. Stiles is just about to repeat the question when he says, almost too softly to be heard, “I was never normal. I’ll never _be_ normal.”

Stiles inexplicably gets a lump in his throat and he tries to clear it, but it’s Allison who lightens up the atmosphere. “I’m not sure normal exists. Not for any of us here, anyway.” She smiles at Scott, and they nudge each other’s shoulders and touch fingers, like they’re touching base. “And really, I don’t think anything important will change.”

\---

The roof is done when the first few letters arrive. Derek and Laura have been something like nomads after the fire. It was partly the grief, and partly the unease of being a werewolf in strange territory. So having a permanent address again hits him like a blow to the gut. And then he sees the name on one letter and it feels like another blow. He stares down at it, his eyebrows furrowed, before opening it with one elongated nail. The letter inside is thin, and the handwriting heavy enough to pierce through it in places. The words don’t surprise him. But there’s some sort of powder coating the paper and a breeze scatters it in the air. Derek gets a direct whiff.

It’s the last thing he remembers before he blacks out.


	2. A New Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their little world upends. Lots of hyperventilating and dithering, no actual movement in terms of plot.

Derek blinks a little. The room he’s in is too dark, and his ears feel stuffed with cotton. He doesn’t remember what happened, and he surges up in panic.

“Hey! Derek, calm down!” He feels a hand on his chest, pushing him back. Stiles. He goes still, but remains tense, like a cornered animal. And that’s when he realizes what he’s missing. 

He lets out a sound that feels like a mixture of a howl and a hoarse scream. Then he chokes on it, rolls and drops from the bed onto the cold concrete. He backpedals when he senses someone nearby, just until he reaches the wall.

All the while, Stiles is making soothing noises, holding out a hand, and it’s a bad reminder. He wants to say, _I’m not feral, you idiot_ , but the words won’t form on his lips. Instead, he breathes noisily through his nose, trying to scent the air. He gets nothing but the lingering smell of antiseptic. 

Stiles comes close enough to grab, and that’s what Derek does, yanking him down by the collar of his shirt. The boy stumbles and falls to his knees, and Derek shoves his face into Stiles’ neck. The smell is there, familiar and comforting, but it’s not strong enough.

“Whoa,” Stiles manages to say, just as Derek kisses him.

As far as first kisses go, it’s messy and a little desperate. Derek licks at the back of his teeth and Stiles lets out a startled moan. He recovers pretty quickly and kisses back. But then his other brain kicks in and he pushes Derek away. It takes less effort than he expected.

“This is… I mean, not that I don’t appreciate this big step in our relationship… And you know, normally I would never say no to a make-out, coz you know, _seventeen_.” He gestures at himself. “But I’m still not sure you’re all here. The doc looked you over, but he hasn’t told us anything yet.”

Derek couldn’t string enough words to explain, but just then the door opens and Jackson walks in. He takes one look at Derek curled up against the wall and he knows and he totally loses it. Within seconds, he’s fully wolfed out, a mouth full of sharp teeth, and eyes glowing blue in the dim flickering bulb of the examination room. And he’s on all fours, snarling at Stiles and Derek.

And Derek freezes. Even after dealing with hunters, or territorial fights with other wolves, this is still the first time he feels like prey.

Stiles, however, is used to feeling like prey. He shouts at Jackson—who ignores him—and keeps Derek at his back when it becomes obvious that he’s no help. Stiles flips over the cot in the middle of the room, eyes flitting everywhere trying to find a weapon. But Jackson keeps on coming, and Stiles is almost resigned to a messy death when Dr. Deaton comes in, throws some kind of ash over Jackson, and mutters a single, long word.

The word itself sounds meaningless to Stiles, but he feels his ears pop, and suddenly Jackson collapses on the floor, his body reverting back to his human form. 

“Now that,” Stiles says after he catches his breath, “was a nifty trick. Which I could have used when Derek went feral.”

Dr. Deaton raises an eyebrow. “Why do you think I insisted that I be there?”

Stiles thinks—not for the first time—that the doc was the coolest badass in town. “So what’s wrong with Derek?” He checks on Jackson first, puts the cot back up and turns to Derek, who’s still cowering in a corner. “You got the tests back, right?”

The doc sighs and rubs the back of his head with ash-smeared fingers. “Yes. I’m not too sure how, but as of right now, Derek’s one hundred percent human.”

Stiles’ jaw drops open, and in the silence that follows, they could hear Derek’s labored breathing. “Are you having a panic attack?” He asks inanely. Then the doc rushes in to take his vitals and Stiles slumps down beside a pile of snoring Jackson, trying desperately to think.

Human. Oh my god. Stiles shakes his head as if to unscramble his brain cells. First of all, Jackson’s gonna wake up sooner or later. It’s been a few months since he was bitten, and he has much better control, but he’s a little too needy, like Scott is with Allison, and without Derek there to rein him in, that just spells trouble with a capital T.

So another werewolf has to do it, and that means Scott. Derek did tell him once that he wanted to add to the Pack, turn more people into wolves, an idea which Stiles vetoed immediately. Would it have been easier if Derek went ahead with it? Stiles wonders for a second, before shaking his head. That would just compound the problem, since training werewolves take so much time and effort. The more wolves in a Pack, the harder they are to coordinate. 

He texts Scott to come over, but doesn’t specify the reason. Hopefully, he can keep Jackson from going nuts again. 

He keeps coming back to _How?_ or maybe _Why?_ Is it a weapon? A spell? An attack against the Pack? Maybe he can ask Allison if there’s anything going on with the other hunters. 

“I sedated him,” Dr. Deaton explains when Stiles raises an eyebrow at him. “Don’t really know what I can tell you, Stiles. I’ve been in this business awhile, and I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“I found him in front of the mailbox, so whatever he got, it could be from a letter,” Stiles muses almost to himself. “I can get samples?” 

The doc’s nodding before he even finishes. “There’s only so much I can do here. But bring them anyway. I’ll keep an eye on him for now if you make sure Mr. Whittemore gets an escort home.”

“I don’t think he should be around, you know,” Stiles says, shrugging, “civilians. How long does the mojo last, anyway?”

“Not long enough,” the doc replies. “Werewolf metabolism. Jackson will be safe at Scott’s place. I think his mom has a shift.”

“Thanks for this, doc,” Stiles says, and his voice is a little hoarse. “You’ve saved our bacon how many times now?”

The older man smiles gently. “I live in this town, too, Stiles.”

“You could have chosen a different side. Hell, you could have ignored us all.”

Dr. Deaton looks down at the prone figure of Derek Hale. “I’m just keeping a promise.” 

\---

The sky is awash in rose and gold by the time Stiles arrives back at the Hale house. He sees the letters on the ground by the mailbox and chews his lips bloody. He was the one who saw Derek there a few hours after lunch. It had been a shock, and for a long moment, he had been convinced Derek was dead. 

Dr. Deaton had warned him to be careful, so he puts on gloves and takes out a box of Ziploc bags for the letters. He puts each one in a separate bag, and looks around for anything else that could have affected Derek. Could it be something from inside the house? He shoves what he’s collected into the glove compartment of his car and walks up the path to the house. The door is ajar, which is just begging for trouble, but Stiles didn’t notice it when he swung by. 

He pushes it open and steps inside. The house welcomes him. Sure, it is still the same house where Kate Argent died, the same front yard where they all helped kill Peter. And Stiles has had his share of nightmares that were set in this house. But somehow, in between training sessions and rebuilding, they had replaced bad memories with almost good ones. He shudders at what memories Derek had to live with everyday. 

Now the walls have a new coat of paint. All the broken things are gone, replaced with cheap but clean furniture from the school’s woodworking class. The kitchen even works, although it doesn’t get used that often, as they all subsist on take-out, frozen pizza and instant noodles. 

Stiles looks around for anything out of the ordinary, but there is nothing. Just silence. He takes a deep breath, wishing a little that he could scent the air the way Scott could. Like Derek couldn’t anymore.

And then he’s sitting on the floor in the middle of the living room, hyperventilating.

\---

Scott wishes he is still asthmatic. There is a lump in his throat that no amount of coughing could clear, and he couldn’t do anything but pace on the floor of his room, while a dead-to-the-world Jackson is in his bed. 

He and Derek had operated on a truce, a fragile one that actually depended on Stiles being there as intermediary whenever Derek got extra bossy and the wolf lurking under the surface of Scott’s skin started trying to claw its way out.

That is probably what he’s feeling now. And he knows he’s a little co-dependent, but he really wants Allison there. But he is at his most dangerous when he’s like this. Allison is pretty laid back about this whole werewolf thing, but even she would get trigger-happy if she saw him right now. 

_Human!_ He doesn’t know if the universe is taunting him. But if it can be done… And then he remembers Stiles’ question the other day. “Maybe it’s a spell, or a wish,” he murmurs. But he can’t imagine Derek wishing to be human. After all, it didn’t save some of his relatives from dying. At least as a wolf, he could defend himself. Scott looks down on his hands. The nails are elongated and he didn’t even notice that he had pierced the skin of his palms. Could _he_ go back to human? 

He still has no answer when Jackson stirs. The other werewolf goes from sedated to alert in a heartbeat. 

Jackson scrambles out of bed, still graceful, his eyes glowing. But he looks like he has it under control. “So it’s true?” He says almost to himself. “Derek’s…”

Scott nods helplessly. “I don’t know anything about it. We could go back to the clinic, if you think you can handle it.”

And of course, Jackson takes that as a challenge. “What did Deaton do to me, anyway?” He complains, rubbing the back of his neck. “I feel like I got hit by a car.”

Scott didn’t really get the details. He scrunches up his nose and shrugs. “Magic.”

\---

Somehow Stiles makes it back. He hands over the Ziploc bags to the doc, and turns around to leave, not even looking in at Derek. He almost gives himself a concussion when he slams into Jackson outside the clinic. 

Jackson grabs his arm. He’s a little rougher than usual, but otherwise seems back in the driver’s seat. “Where are you running to? Did something happen?”

Stiles shakes his head. “I got the letters. It might have been some kind of chemical. I don’t know. I was just heading home.”

“Yeah, like your tail’s on fire,” Jackson mutters. “You smell sick. Wait for us and I’ll drive you home.”

Normally this would be enough for Stiles to tease Jackson about losing his douchebag status. But he feels too drained.

Scott slings an arm around his shoulder, while Jackson keeps a-hold of his arm, and he lets them drag him back in. 

Dr. Deaton doesn’t mention anything, just raises an eyebrow. “It’ll take time to run tests on the letters. I don’t have the right equipment for this. I have a contact at the hospital who can take a look.”

“But he’s fine, right?” Jackson asks.

“From what I can tell, yes,” the doc answers. “I can keep him here overnight, or you can take him to an actual hospital to do a full body work-up. Just in case.”

Derek is awake but silent, his face like granite.

“I’ll bring him by,” Scott offers. “Then I can drive him home.”

“I’ll take Stiles,” Jackson says. 

That’s when Stiles meets Derek’s eyes, and there are a million thoughts running like hamsters through his brain. _We should all stick together. Maybe do a four-way puppy pile even though we’re down a werewolf. Can Derek still be part of the Pack when he’s human? How long can we make it without an Alpha? Oh and Derek just kissed me._

He used to think Derek could read his mind, or maybe know by his scent or the sound of his heartbeat, and be able to respond. But now, Derek just stares back uncomprehendingly.


	3. Extra Ordinary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which some questions are answered, and some are still left scratching their heads, but little else is revealed.

Derek goes through the tests like he’s sleepwalking. Scott keeps sneaking glances his way, but he’s just trying not to think and doesn't know what to say. They meet Scott’s mom in one of the exam rooms, and she looks at him curiously but acts completely professional as she draws blood from his arm. 

That the pain from the needle lingers is one more surprise in a series of surprises. What he told Stiles was right; he’s never been normal, doesn't even know what that means, really. If this is permanent… then he’ll have to find out.

Scott drives him back to his place. “Do you want some company?” He calls out, but Derek waves him away. 

He closes the door and leans against it, barely noticing the car leave. The place feels alien. Everything is too quiet and he finds himself jumping at every little noise and at moving shadows, and his heart beats too fast like his ribs can’t contain it.

He wants to punch the wall, but he is afraid to. 

He surrenders to a different impulse, grabbing his car keys and heading back towards town. It’s a lot harder to drive with human senses, and he forces himself to slow down. His hands are clenched so tight at the wheel that they go numb. He somehow makes it to Stiles’ place, and looks up at the wall that he used to scale so easily. He walks to the front door and knocks. 

On the other side of the door, Jackson pushes Stiles. “Go on up.”

“That better not be my dad, and if it is, you make up an excuse,” Stiles mumbles, though he is cut off by a yawn. 

Jackson nods without answering; he already knows who’s standing outside. He waits until Stiles trudges up the stairs before he opens the door. Then he grabs Derek’s arm, yanks him inside then pushes him against the now-closed door. Derek’s heart is going crazy, but otherwise he doesn’t react, not even when Jackson leans forward and inhales.

_Alpha and not-alpha._ The mixed scent confuses the wolf inside him, but he holds it back. 

“Tell me what to do,” he chokes out between gritted teeth. 

Derek clears his too-dry throat. “We’ll figure this out, Jackson.” Then instinct makes him add, “We’re still Pack. No matter what happens, that will never change.”

It’s what Jackson needs to hear. He pulls back and they look at each other for a second. “Stiles is asleep,” he says. Derek nods, and they walk up the steps in wordless agreement.

This time, Derek’s in the middle. Stiles doesn't even twitch.

\---

Jackson turns and almost falls off the bed. He blinks, eyes adjusting. It’s still dark. Ever since he got bit, he seems to need less and less sleep, like the wolf under his skin is an alternative source of energy. Which means without it, Derek needs more sleep. He looks up at the ceiling for a long time, and then he’s blinking awake again, and this time the sky’s just beginning to turn gold.

Derek’s tense beside him. Stiles is still snoring away.

“We should go,” Derek whispers.

“Then wake him up,” Jackson says, voice a little too loud as he sits up. “If we sneak out without telling him, he’s gonna bitch about it, and I’d rather not be subjected to a Stilinski sulk.”

“I’m awake, I’m awake,” Stiles mutters and the bed shifts. “You okay?” He asks Derek, rubbing at his eyes.

“Yes,” Derek bites off, obviously not okay. He sits up too, but seems reluctant to actually leave the bed.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Jackson promises, before he has a brilliant idea. “We can go to the gym.” At Derek’s raised eyebrow, he elaborates, “It’ll help you relearn your limits.”

“Really? Like Derek needs to get any hotter?” Stiles asks, before he literally slams his hands over his mouth, turning red as a lobster. He turns face down on his pillow and mumbles, “Okay, please leave before I spontaneously combust.”

Jackson watches as Derek’s right hand hovers over Stiles’ hair. He waits for the almost familiar current of jealousy, but there’s nothing. He just feels emotionally exhausted. “We have to figure out if this is permanent or not,” he says. “Call the doc. Get Scott to talk to Allison. Then call me if there’s news.”

Stiles nods without looking up. He waits until the door shuts behind them before he turns face-up, but his arm covers his eyes. Of all the times for his mouth to fail him, why does it have to be now?

\---

Sheriff Stilinski frowns as he walks in his front door. He rubs his chin, and reluctantly walks up the stairs and knocks at his son’s door.

He hears Stiles say something and he turns the knob and steps inside. His son is still in bed, and his location—at the edge of a uniformly rumpled bed—is very telling. He clears his throat.

Stiles startles, and almost falls off the bed. “Dad! You’re home early.”

“I uh, noticed you had houseguests.” He watches his son’s face turn tomato-red. “I’m thinking we need to talk.”

\---

“You don’t get it!” Scott runs a hand through his hair. “Sometimes I have to put the Pack first, Allison.” 

“I know that. But don’t you think I deserve a better explanation for you blowing me off than _something came up_?” Allison’s arms are crossed. “The question is do you trust me or not?”

“Of course I trust you,” Scott immediately answers. “But,” he struggles to explain, “being part of the Pack means I can’t just go off and do my own thing; I have to consult the others. I have to think of consequences. I thought you understood that."

Allison is quiet for a while, before looking at Scott. "My dad wants me to go to NYU after I graduate."

Scott's face scrunches up in confusion. "What?"

She covers her eyes with a hand. The interior of her car suddenly feels stifling. "That's where my mom attended. I, I'm still thinking about it." 

Scott grabs his hand, and for one second, it _hurts_ and the hunter part of her reacts. "You're leaving me? Allison, you know how much I need you."

"I know you think you do," Allison tells him, her voice so brittle it almost breaks. "But I am who I am and I'll never be part of your Pack.” She unlocks her car door. "Just get out."

Scott panics. And blurts out the truth, “Derek turned human.”

Allison whirls around, her mouth opening.

\---

“Dad, dad, whatever you’re thinking of, I assure you it’s wrong,” Stiles babbles. “I mean there’s a perfectly innocent explanation why Jackson and Derek spent the night. And there was no hanky-panky involved, I promise. It was just a good ol’ fashioned boys’ night in.” 

“You’re a little too old for sleepovers, aren't you? And Derek’s what? Ten years older than you?”

“Six,” Stiles croaks out, but his father just raises an eyebrow. “Well you could say that emotionally he’s way younger than I am. He’s like, twelve. And he, well, he was having a bad night. So Jackson and I were just keeping him company.”

“I didn't know you were that close,” the Sheriff says mildly. He and his son doesn't talk that often, but he thought he’d at least get a heads-up if there were any major changes in Stiles’ life. 

Stiles blushes. “Yeah, well, it just happened. He’s a hard person to get to know.” He bites his lip when his father sits down on the bed beside him. 

“You can tell me anything, you know that, right?”

He thinks of every lie he’s said, thinks of dead bodies, and fangs and claws. And he nods, throat too full to speak.

His dad sighs, but he lets it go and Stiles watches him leave the room. He’s up before the door even fully closes, pacing around for a few minutes, trying to get his brain to work. He grabs some clothes and heads for the shower. He has no time for self-pity. 

The only way to remain sane is to keep moving.

His train of thought is happily interrupted by the doc’s call. “What’s up?”

“You were right. It’s one of the letters. It’s a pathogen I've never seen before and it’s airborne. Derek must have gotten a direct whiff. It’s already diluted, but Scott and Jackson are still at risk.”

_At risk for what, their former humanity?_ Stiles wants to ask. “So is there a way to get Derek’s wolf back?”

“I’m still looking into that. For now, the important thing is to get rid of the threat. I went to Derek’s place and cleaned up there, but the letter worries me. There’s a spell I can teach you. Are you still interested?”

Stiles thinks back to the last time he was given a choice. His answer to Peter, would it still be the same now? “Yes,” he says. “I’m interested.”

\---

“Was it magic?”

Scott shakes his head and shrugs at the same time. “Don’t ask me how.”

Allison knows Scott well enough to recognize the look on his face. _Human!_ Her mind whirls with the possibilities but she forces them down, reaching for his hand. 

He lets her pull him forward. The hug is awkward with the gear shift in the way, but he doesn't even notice. He kisses her just below her ear. “I don’t know what to do,” he murmurs.

She raises a hand to his nape, and feels him relax completely in her arms. It scares her sometimes, how much power she has over Scott, especially given what he is. Her father is teaching her that the wolf is the enemy, but though she tries her hardest to make him proud, it’s a lesson that doesn't stick. She knows better. It’s a _disease_. But if there’s a cure…

"Don't tell your dad. Not yet at least," Scott murmurs, and she automatically agrees.

\---

“Take it slow,” Jackson reminds Derek for the fifth time. He stands over him, acting as spotter. The barbell holds forty pounds on top of the twenty of the metal itself. It’s as low as Derek is willing to go, and even then, Jackson can see the trembling in his arms. “If you pull a muscle, Stiles will tear me a new one.”

Derek glares up at him. It’s a stupid threat, but it works. Jackson just bares his teeth down at his alpha and almost laughs out loud at the expression that crosses Derek’s face. For a second, everything goes back to normal between them. As normal as it could get being what they are. 

The gym is old and run-down. The smell of sweat and musk is almost unbearable to Jackson’s sensitized nose, but he’s smelled worse at the locker rooms after a lacrosse practice. After the bite, he had a small personal gym installed at home, so he doesn't have to worry about people noticing how much he can bench press. But he thought Derek would handle it better if he’s in front of an audience of normals. And it works. No temper tantrums or panic attacks. And with Derek still looking the way he does, he certainly doesn’t have to feel that he has something to prove to the old men wheezing on the treadmills or the skinny boys pumping iron.

Finding out how weak he is, well, there isn't really a good way to do that. The idea of a cure gave Jackson the chills. He’d never go back. The morning after his first change was the first time he had felt comfortable in his skin.

\---

Derek doesn’t bother going to the gym, but even as a werewolf he spent a lot of time keeping in tiptop shape. So many others of his kind rely on the wolf for strength that they neglect their bodies, but he knows how important both parts are to the whole. That’s how he feels now: incomplete and broken. But there is something soothing in the reps and he let his mind wander as he pushes and pulls on the bar. Jackson is a warm presence behind him. Biting Jackson had been an instinct, the right one as it had turned out. Beneath the ego and the insecurity, he has this strength of will that reminded Derek of Laura. 

It’s almost lunch by the time they leave. A freshly showered Jackson was frowning down at his phone. “Stiles should have called in by now. How much time does it take to do some stupid tests on stupid letters?”

Derek whips his head around at that. As overwhelmed as he has been with the effects, he hasn't even thought about the _cause_. “The letter,” he says hoarsely. It comes back to him all at once. The handwriting. And the smell. It was a mix of antiseptic and vanilla, though it was faint on the paper. The memory grows even fainter now as he grapples with his limited human senses. “I know who it is.”

Jackson is distracted enough that he doesn't see it coming. A bat to the head, in a double-handed swing. Jackson drops, out cold, his phone on the ground beside him. Derek steps back when he sees the woman. “Anna,” he says, and she smiles at him the way she used to, sweet and coy, before she swings the bat at his head. 

She’s a tall woman, big-boned, with long brown hair in a plait down her back. Still, it takes all her effort to drag both men in her van. She drives off, just as the abandoned cellphone rings. Beacon Hills Hospital, it says on the screen. It rings and rings and rings.


	4. Blast from the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the shit hits the fan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would just like to apologize to everyone who was squicked out by the Jackson/Derek thing in the previous story. Let's just say my version comes from the Anita Blake school of werewolves. Not the part where everyone's sleeping with everyone else, but the part where what seems inappropriate touching to outsiders is a necessary fact within the Pack. So it's still not actually Jackson/Derek. 
> 
> Also, this was very late because I went on vacation, and no promises for the next chapter. Thanks for all your reviews!

“Mom?” Scott’s brow wrinkles as he listens to his mother on the other end. 

Melissa McCall is a professional, and she doesn’t really understand how Scott and Derek Hale are related, but she looks down at the doctor’s notes in front of her and it just hits a little too close to home. “I won’t ask why he put Jackson Whittemore down as emergency contact, but he’s not answering his phone and there’s no one else to call.” Her voice breaks a little. She doesn’t expect Scott to notice; her son is usually oblivious.

But he’s changed. He picks up on it right away and gets a really bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. “I don’t think Derek has a phone, but I’ll see what I can do. Mom, is it... bad?” He holds his breath.

Melissa bites her lower lip. “Just make sure he comes to the hospital as soon as possible.”

As soon as she hangs up, Scott calls Stiles.

\---

Jackson feels the ropes before he even opens his eyes. He automatically flexes his hands, but they just creak a little and hold. His fangs descend on instinct, and when he sees her, he is already howling. 

She frowns down at him, like he’s a puppy that just peed on her shoes. The lack of fear gives him pause. When he takes a deep breath, he scents her pity, and he gets even madder.

She’s a tough-looking chick, but she looks pale and tired. Just an ordinary human, someone who should have been incapable of taking him down. Stiles would never let him forget it. She walks up to him with confidence, stopping a meter away. “Don’t worry. It’ll all be over soon.”

He struggles harder, and gets the sudden urge to break her condescending little neck. And then he remembers. “Derek,” he chokes out.

Her eyebrows rise. “He’s still sleeping it off. You do know he’s not your Alpha anymore, right?”

Jackson ignores that, and tries to extend his senses. He still has a hard time controlling them, but he hears Derek’s heartbeat—a little slow, but steadily beating—from somewhere in the shadows of the room. It’s dim even for his eyes. A single bulb flickers from the ceiling, illuminating little, while the ground shimmers with ground-up glass. He smells stale beer, old sweat and oil. In contrast, the woman smells sharp and almost comforting; it reminds him of hospitals and something else, something sweeter, like the cookies Lydia used to bring him from Home Ec.

He demands between clenched teeth. “What do you want?” 

She laughs with her head back, and it transforms her face. She looks much younger now, almost beautiful. “What does anyone want, really?” She turns her back on him and walks off towards the shadows. “Derek. It’s time to wake up, sweetheart.”

Derek twitches at the touch on his face. He opens his eyes and looks up at her, and the bulb glows like a dirty halo around her head. “Anna,” he says with a sigh.

She kneels down and kisses him, and he kisses back. Jackson almost chokes on his own spit.

\---

Stiles jumps out from the jeep, almost tripping on his own feet. He flails, and feels Scott steady him with a hand on his arm. “What’s going on, dude?”

“I haven’t talked to mom yet. And Jackson isn’t answering his phone. Maybe I should go track them down.” 

Stiles shakes his head. “I think this is more important. Maybe they’re in the woods or something. As much of a douche as Jackson is, he won’t let anything happen to Derek.”

“Yeah well, he’s not exactly Mr. Perfect Control,” Scott shoots back, though he’s walking in with Stiles.

“I don’t know. Once he and Derek did their bro-thing, he’s actually pretty teachable,” Stiles muses under his breath, if only to fill the terrifying silence.

Scott knows what he’s doing, of course. But he plays along. “Compared to me, you mean?”

“Well you’re just naturally contrary,” Stiles says. “Or you just need the right incentive.” He nudges Scott with his shoulder. “How was your date with Allison?”

Scott’s not used to hiding anything from Stiles, but he needs time to process things, and his best friend can be like a whirlwind sometimes. “She’s okay. I told her about Derek, but she promised not to tell her father.”

“What can he do with it, anyway? Hunters kill their prey. If they think there’s a cure, it just means they’re not needed anymore. So much for job security.”

Scott makes a face at that. Then he meets his mother’s eyes, and he goes on alert. Something’s _really wrong._

“What are you guys doing here?” She asks them, crossing her arms when Stiles babbles an excuse. “I’m serious, guys. There’s no way I’m telling you anything about Derek Hale. Not unless he’s here in person and gives you permission.”

Stiles gets this weird expression on his face. “He’s my boyfriend,” he blurts out. 

Scott feels his jaw drop open, and his mom does the same. Melissa recovers first; he’s still stuttering when she leans forward. “I don’t believe you,” she challenges him. 

Stiles crosses his own arms, and then uncrosses them. “It’s true. We’ve even slept together.” His voice is higher, and it’s obvious even without werewolf senses that he’s nervous, but Scott still can’t tell if he’s lying. Stiles had always been good at misdirection.

“Really?” Scott asks and Stiles gestures helplessly at him.

“My dad doesn’t know, but he uh, suspects,” he says. “I mean, I know he’s older, and there’s the whole gay thing, but it’s really, really true.”

Melissa squashes the urge to check if he’s crossing his fingers. ”Then why did he name Jackson Whittemore as his proxy and not you? Or are you going to sell me some bullshit about you being part of a ménage a trois?” 

“Mom!” Scott’s face burns, and Stiles’ does too. Her words hit a little too close to home.

“We’re all really close,” he tries to convince her without really saying anything. “We’re like his family, but well, Jackson’s the bossy one. He’s like the bratty younger brother.”

“And _you’re_ the boyfriend?” She still sounds skeptical.

Scott feels like the conversation is going completely out of control so he jumps in. “Mom, if it’s urgent, then it’s something _we_ need to know, right now. Trust me, please. The sooner you tell us, the sooner we can go out and find him.”

Melissa looks at her son. She’s the one who raised him; she knows him inside out, from his head-over-heels infatuation with Allison Argent to his tendency to completely miss the point. But for the first time he looks her in the eye, adult to adult, and she has to swallow down the lump in her throat.

She takes a deep breath. “His T cell count is very low.”

Scott scrunches up his face. “What does that mean?”

“Oh my god, he has HIV!” Stiles exclaims, but she glares him into silence.

“The important thing is that he needs to get to a hospital as soon as possible. His condition is very dangerous.”

“How long does he have?” Stiles leaps over the conversation and goes right to the main point. 

“It depends on his symptoms right now.”

“How long?” Stiles asks again, and his voice breaks and Melissa reconsiders the possibility that Stiles Stilinski is really Derek’s boyfriend.

“It’s just an estimate,” she says, biting her lip. “Seventy-two hours. That’s worse case scenario.”

“What could happen in seventy-two hours?” Scott asks her.

“He could experience respiratory failure.” At her son’s expression, she explains, “His lungs will stop working.”

\---

 _How big are his lungs, anyway?_ Jackson thinks for a second, before Derek finally surfaces for air.

“It’s been a long time, Derek.” 

Jackson looks away as the girl runs her thumb across Derek's chin. The intimacy between them makes the back of his neck itch and he could feel the hair on his head growing thicker as he shifts in full. It doesn't help that he can hear Derek's heartbeat, running quick like a rabbit's, like prey. Back when he was newly bitten and Derek was training him, he would focus on that sound and try to regain his control. Now, it has the opposite effect. 

"Stay away from him, you bitch!" He snarls. 

Derek jerks back, eyes widening. It's dark enough to hide Jackson in the shadows, but his eyes—his _human_ eyes—finally adjust and he sees him tied to a chair, grasping at the last straws of his control. And it all comes back. And when Anna reaches for him, he flinches.

Something crosses her face, a coldness that he had glimpsed a few times before, while she was working on her thesis at school. 

She had been a grad student when they met at a party. It was New Year three years ago and her mentor had dragged her out of the lab for some mandatory fun. She had always been tall and solidly built, and when Derek first saw her, she was slouched in a corner nursing a lukewarm cup of beer. 

He had lost Laura in the crowd and was considering sneaking out when she caught his eye, or more accurately, his nose. Her scent was like a punch in the gut; it reminded him of his mother, standing in the kitchen with flour in her hands. Before he knew it, he was standing beside her. She stared at him like she couldn't believe he was real, and he made painful and pathetic attempts at small talk. 

When the countdown had started and the people around them were pairing off, he smiled sheepishly at her and she smiled back. "Want to get out of here?" He asked. And when she nodded, he grabbed her hand and they walked out into the streets. They ended up at an all-night convenience store, talking over hotdogs and coffee. 

It would have ended there, except that Derek had asked her about her work, and before his eyes, she transformed into a completely different person: whip-smart and passionate. Even her perpetual slouch disappeared. That was the moment he fell in love with her.

It didn’t matter that she was older. Nor did it matter that she was one of the smartest people he had ever met while he was struggling between construction jobs and taking undergraduate courses here and there. And at that time, it didn’t matter that Laura took one look at her and told him, “You can do so much better, bro.” He got so mad he almost challenged his alpha. Instead, he and Laura had stopped speaking to each other for almost five months before she apologized. None of it mattered, because he had chosen her. 

“Anna, what have you done?” He whispers painfully through his suddenly constricting throat.

But she shakes her head at him. “I should be the one to ask you that question, Derek. What were you thinking, biting someone so young? You turned the poor boy into a monster.”

Derek flushes. A part of him still doubts whether he made the right choice in turning Jackson. His instincts overrode his common sense, though. But the man in him—the one he’s now reduced to—is very familiar with this feeling: guilt. _About Kate, about Laura and Peter, about Scott and Lydia and Jackson and Stiles..._

“Shut up! You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jackson growls out. The reminder of his presence lends strength to Derek’s limbs, and he stands, though his head throbs with the movement, and he has to grab the wall behind him when he wavers. 

Anna ignores Jackson’s interruption like she didn’t hear anything at all. “You made a mistake, Derek. But I did it. I found a way to make things right.”

“You found a cure,” Derek says flatly, while his mind races. He imagines reaching out and hurting her, but his hands are shaking so he hides them behind his back. 

“No, I made one.” Anna smiles at him. “I did it for us. All these years, Derek, I’ve been waiting for this moment. You’re human now, so there’s nothing that stands in our way. There’s only one thing left for you to do.” And she hands him a small bottle with some white powder inside. “You have to cleanse your sins and undo your mistakes.”

Jackson's growls turn to full-fledged snarling when he realizes exactly what the girl is planning. His nails dig into his own palms as he struggles, and with every jerk, a little bit of the knot comes undone.

Derek shakes his head, partly in disbelief, partly in denial. "You still don't get it, Anna. The bite is a gift, not a curse."

"Do you really believe that? Even after what happened to your family?" Her voice turns sharp, and Derek can't help but react to her words. But she doesn't just stop there. "With your so-called gift, you tied this boy to you, and then you gain more power. Does he know that, Derek? Does he know how you're using him?" 

If he were still complete, he would have shifted by now, maybe even in full Alpha form. Instead, he tries to speak, but somehow cannot catch his breath to do it. He brushes past Anna, trying to reach Jackson, but his vision darkens before he could cross the room. 

"Derek! What's wrong?" Anna asks, grabbing his arm and dropping the bottle. It cracks just enough for a line of powder to scatter on the floor.

It brings Jackson back to his senses. His fangs retract, though he keeps working on the rope. He eyes the powder with fear for a second, but his gaze is drawn back to Derek. "He's sick," he bites out. "You need to take him to a hospital."

"No, I can fix him. Don't worry, love. I'll make it all better." She traces Derek's cheek, while he struggles to push her away.

The knot finally gives way. In a heartbeat, Jackson rips her from Derek and throws her against the wall. He doesn't even turn around to see if she's still alive. He carries Derek out of the place. As soon as he sees the sky, he howls his fear and rage to the sliver of a moon. 

He's panicking and he knows it. In the absence of rational thought his wolf rises to the surface and he runs, Derek in his arms, towards sanctuary. 

Dr. Deaton greets him by the door. He growls as the vet takes out his stethoscope. The other man makes noises but they don’t register in Jackson’s brain.

“Tell me what happened, Jackson.”


	5. In Sickness and in Health

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for all the hand-waving in this chapter. This is the end, but there will be a short epilogue.

For once, Stiles doesn’t answer the phone with _What’s up, doc?_

"I need to you come here and act as wolf translator. Jackson's out of control." Dr. Deaton rarely loses his cool, so his frustrated tone makes something in Stiles’ chest clench.

"They're there? Oh my god, they're there. Derek, too?"

“Yes, and there’s something wrong with his lungs. I’ve put him on oxygen but he really needs to get to a hospital. Except Jackson won’t even let me through the front door.”

The next few minutes are a blur; somehow, Stiles talks Melissa into getting an ambulance to the doc’s and hitching a ride in the back. His nails are bloody, bitten to the quick by the time they arrive. He leaps out and runs headlong through the door when someone barrels onto him.

It’s Jackson. He’s not shifted but he’s still non-verbal. Stiles leads him away just as the EMTs come in. Dr. Deaton helps them load Derek in the back as he focuses on keeping Jackson calm and out of the way. 

It’s his scent that reaches him. And isn’t that a scream? Stiles Stilinski suddenly smells like home. “Stiles,” he whispers. And the other boy perks up, and smiles at him, though it looks forced. 

“We were looking for you everywhere. Derek needs to start carrying his own damn phone, too. I refuse to believe he’s been living like a caveman since, since you know... I mean, no caves in New York, right? No woods either, unless he camped out in Central Park.” He babbles, rubbing Jackson’s arm that’s holding him a little too tight.

Jackson thinks of _her_ again and he growls, almost subsonic.

“Whoa, no backsliding, dude. Use your words. I know you’re not as dumb as you look.” 

The insult works; he swallows another growl and finds the damn words. “We got kidnapped.” Stiles shuts his mouth with a snap, his eyes widening. Jackson almost smirks as he tells the bare bones—not the kiss, or Derek would rip him a new one. Literally.

Stiles grabs him and drags him over to the doc, getting him to follow the ambulance back to the hospital. In the car, Dr. Deaton asks more questions than he can answer about the powder she was throwing around. He can’t even think her name before the rage rises within him. It’s not something he can put into words. Somewhere inside him, he’s already pronounced judgment on her: _enemy._ Both _predator_ and _prey._

And then Stiles tells them about the test results, and he loses it again. It takes Stiles crawling on his lap to calm him down, but his claws are buried deep in the seat cushions and he tastes his own blood on his lips. He feels the doc’s gaze from the mirror, and he retracts his claws and pushes Stiles away. He meets those eyes. “Fix this.”

_When did I become the man with the answers?_ Alan Deaton thinks. But he nods because he couldn’t do anything else.

\---

They leave Derek in Melissa’s capable hands, while the doc goes over the hard copies of his test results in a corner. The three of them form a huddle in the corridor outside, not even bothering to keep their voices low. “We’ll have to deal with her sooner or later,” Stiles is arguing when they’re interrupted.

“I heard you have yourselves a little problem.” It’s Chris Argent, with a carefully blank expression, Allison at his side.

Stiles doesn’t notice the look of betrayal on Scott’s face. Instead he steps forward and focuses on the threat. “Thanks, but we got it.” His voice is hard. 

“Your Alpha’s out of commission. You’re barely trained. Surely an alliance at this point is the next logical step?” He sounds so reasonable that for a second, Scott thinks Stiles will say yes. 

Instead, he grabs the front of Mr. Argent’s jacket and slams him against the wall, his left forearm across the older man’s throat, while his right grabs the gun in the holster at Argent’s back. Allison automatically reaches for her own weapon, but Scott’s snarl stops her in her tracks. 

They’re practically hugging; Stiles’ face is very close when he grits out, “We’re stronger than you think, Argent. We can handle it.”

He waits until Chris nods minutely before releasing him and removing the hand on his weapon. “Scott, stay here and work with Deaton.” _Watch them,_ he doesn’t add. “Jackson, with me.” And he walks away without looking back.

Scott catches Chris Argent’s eyes—there’s surprise and a little bit of respect there—and he avoids Allison’s.

\---

Jackson finds the way back through scent and instinct; he wasn’t exactly in his right mind leaving the place. The warehouse looked like any other. “She’s here,” he mutters to Stiles. He’d have tried to track her down, but Stiles stops him. 

“There’s something we have to do first. Come on.” The door is practically off its hinges and they slip inside. There’s no sight of the girl, but the room is full of shadows and he grips the wrench he borrowed from Dr. Deaton’s trunk. 

He knows Jackson will hear her coming, but she got the jump on them before, so he’s still wary as he enters the room. Jackson nods to confirm the location. The torn rope beside the chair is proof enough. 

“Guard the door. Don’t come any closer,” Stiles warns him even as he steps forward to where the glass of powder lay on the ground. He closes his eyes, tries his best to focus. The doc had assured him that if he just _believed_ —

He dips a finger in the powder, and drags it to form a rune on the cold concrete floor. Then he speaks the rune and slams his hand down on top of the powder. And every single granule disappears.

It’s a rush, and he feels his heartbeat pumping overtime with exhilaration. He’s still patting his own back when Jackson whips his head around and this girl’s there, screeching loud enough to wake the dead, and close enough to point a taser at him. But Jackson snarls at her and swipes at her hand. She drops the weapon.

Stiles only has time to get to his feet though when she somehow slips past Jackson and heads straight for him, her hands reaching to scratch at his face with all too human nails. She doesn’t even notice that she’s bleeding. And there’s this crazy look in her eyes. 

He freewheels backward to avoid her and Jackson hauls her back just as one index finger scores his cheek. Jackson slams her down on the floor, fully shifted, only barely stopping himself from sinking his claws into her. He closes his hand into a fist and punches her. And she’s out cold and the incoherent screaming finally stops. Stiles wipes at his face with the back of his hand and looks bemusedly at the blood smeared on it.

“She’s human, so it’s not like we could kill her.” Stiles murmurs almost to himself. Jackson leaves her on the ground and turns to him, stepping too close and tilting his face upward. “I’m okay,” he assures him even as he steps backward, tugging his chin from Jackson’s hold. “Seriously, dude. All this caring and sharing. Next thing you know we’d be braiding each other’s hair.” 

Jackson snorts. He’s ever so slowly shifting back, but he looks like he could sleep for a week, his hair a mess and dirt smeared all over him. _Not so perfect anymore, huh._ The thought is uncharitable, but it’s colored with fondness. Jackson rumbles out, “Human laws,” like he’s cursing. 

Stiles grins at him and takes out his mobile. “Then it’s a good thing I got a certain Sheriff on my speed dial, isn’t it?” 

Jackson frowns down at his own phone. “Yeah, I guess I could call my dad.” Aka Mr. Big-shot lawyer. 

Stiles already has the phone to his ear when he asks, “Why, who do _you_ have on your speed dial?”

Jackson does not meet his gaze when he answers. “Lydia.”

\---

By the time Anna No Last Name gets charged with kidnapping, it was really late. And even though they paint Jackson as her victim, Stiles is the one with the visible injury, and once he gets patched up by the EMT, his dad is loathe to let him out of sight. Stiles manages to talk him to death—and Mr. Whittemore, too—until he finally lets them go to the hospital. Stiles may or may not have used Lydia’s name, though, which doesn’t really sit well with him but at this point, what was another lie on top of every other lie between them?

“It’s done,” he reports to the doc as soon as he sees him. There was no sign of the Argents and Scott was dozing in a corner. He tries to play it cool, but all the cool evaporates like so much mist when Dr. Deaton’s expression registers. 

“Derek?” Jackson all but demands from over his shoulder.

The doc takes a deep breath. “He’s better but he’s not out of the woods yet. Even if they get him stabilized, he’d going to have to live with a compromised immune system for the rest of his life, however long that may be. From what I can tell, that powder entered his bloodstream and drastically changed its composition." He shakes his head at his own inability to explain. “It's not like there's a rational scientific process for how a person turns into a werewolf. This isn't supposed to be possible, not without magic.”

“But she made it happen.”

Dr. Deaton shrugs. “She must have stumbled onto a substance with a raw magical property. There's no way she synthesized something like this out of a makeshift lab. It's also possible that her desperation was powerful enough to call on an otherworldly force.”

Stiles rubs his eyes. “You're saying an antidote's not going to come in a pill. Can’t we just bite him again? You know, like Drusilla bites Darla again in _Angel_?” 

The doc raises an eyebrow at that, not even pretending to understand the reference even though he most definitely should. Derek’s their broody creature of the night after all. And Scott would be Gunn and Jackson would totally be Cordelia. And Stiles had always felt a certain kinship with Wesley. And he should really stop this line of thinking—

“Only Alphas can turn people to werewolves, and the closest Alpha is about ten days from here. Besides, that’s not really a good idea at this point. His body can’t fight it off. He’ll die. Dr. Deaton frowns. Unless—”

“Unless what?”

“I’m not sure yet. I’ll have to do some tests first.” At Jackson’s glare, however, the doc relented. “Blood transfusion from a family member. That won’t be enough to jar his system, and it might be enough to trigger his own body to produce his original blood composition.” 

“Gee whiz, we should have bled Peter dry shouldn’t we?” Stiles quips. “But, I mean, there could be cousins, right? Second cousins? Long lost cousins twice-removed?” From the doc’s expression, that was about as likely as raising Peter back from the dead. 

“What about pack blood?” Jackson asks. 

Dr. Deaton shrugs again. “You and Scott should get tested, then. I wish I could do more in-depth testing, but we don’t have that luxury. I have some samples of Derek’s blood before it was contaminated, so we could find which one of you would be more compatible. I just need you to understand that there’s no guarantee, not when Derek’s already so weak.”

Stiles feels his heart clench. He sits down heavily on the bench and elbows Scott a little too hard. 

“Wha—?” Scott almost slides off. 

Jackson grabs his arm and drags him towards the nurse’s station. “Come on, McCall. We gotta go bleed.”

\---

The results, when they come in, feel more like a joke, one that was though up by a very cruel and funny god. 

“It’s not close enough to be a direct relation, but you’re definitely related.”

Jackson is struck dumb, and his expression would have left Stiles in stitches if this were any other day but today. 

“Whoa!” Scott says, and Stiles squashes the urge to smack the back of his head. 

“So that means it will work, right?” 

Dr. Deaton is almost smiling, Stiles can totally tell. “It means we get better odds.”

Stiles doesn’t let Jackson brood about it and drags him to where they’re prepping for a transfusion. It’s not a procedure that the doctors recommend even if they have an idea of what’s wrong with Derek, which they don’t. And they wouldn’t have a reason to listen to a _veterinarian_ of all people, but somehow the doc manages to talk them into it anyway. Stiles is not sure if it’s magic or just connections, but if Deaton pulls this off, he will lay prostate at his feet and beg to be a disciple to his Awesomeness. 

\---

It’s almost dawn and Jackson thinks he might still be in shock. Derek’s much better now, his breathing had evened out a few minutes after the transfusion, and his heart beat steadily, and Jackson let that sound fill him, because otherwise the questions would rise up and choke him. 

For now, it’s enough that he had done this, he had helped his Alpha. Through the night Deaton was in and out of the room, checking on Derek’s progress. It’s slow-going, but it looks like it’s starting to work. His organs are up to snuff. At this point, they’re just waiting for him to wake up and show a fang or two.

Stiles is sleeping on the other side of the bed, clutching Derek’s hand, occasionally talking in his sleep. Jackson pretends he doesn’t understand what he’s saying. And then he hears the skip in the heartbeat, and he’s already reaching for Derek when his eyes open. 

They’re glowing red.

He tries to sit up, which wakes Stiles up, and then he’s practically climbing on the bed and sobbing, hands all over Derek’s face.

Jackson fights the instinct to join him on the bed, to scent his Alpha and be acknowledged, be praised. Instead he stands up, and heads out. Scott’s at home already, his mom having thrown him out late last night, right after the transfusion. Dr. Deaton had instructed him to open the clinic while he catches up on his own broken sleep. Barring a nurse or two, the corridors are empty. 

Jackson walks straight into Lydia’s room. She’s already awake, picking at a piece of chicken on a plastic plate like she’s wondering what kind of idiots thought it was edible. She sees him and her expression turns hard and bland, about the same as the chicken. 

“To what do I owe the dubious pleasure of your presence, Mr. Whittemore?” Her tone is as razor-sharp as her gaze.

“Shut up and listen to me.” And he tells her everything.

When he stops, her eyes are big, and she's speechless for once, but her hands are on his and they never once let go.

\---

The sheriff frowns. It's a skeleton crew tonight at the station, so it should have been quiet as a grave. But he can hear a sort of steady murmur, low and smooth. He stands up to check. It seems to be coming from the holding cells. There's only one prisoner there now.

His hand instinctively goes to his gun. There's a sound, a little like a pop, but softer. And he can smell incense in the air. But when he got to the cells, no one's there. And the prisoner—Anna Lautier according to her driver’s license—is sobbing.

"What's wrong? Are you okay?" He asks her, stepping closer to the bars. 

She looks up at him. Her eyes are red. "I only wanted him to love me back," she says. "I wanted him to come home with me."

That’s the last time she speaks.

\---

Two days later, Scott and Allison are sitting on a bench. Allison is looking for the words to explain herself, but she couldn't. Scott says, “I am what I am, and you are who you are. I won't ever stop loving you, Allison. But what you did, it isn't okay. It won't be okay for a while.”

Allison bites her lip. “I'll fix this." 

Scott thinks of the girl, Anna. He had accompanied Dr. Deaton to do a geas on her, but all the time she was saying, _I just wanted to fix him._ He shakes his head. “No, don't. How about I wait for you, instead? Go to New York. Go do your hunter thing. When you're ready, I'll be here.”

\---

Stiles is driving Derek home from the hospital, with Allison, Jackson and Scott in a second car behind them, when Derek grabs the wheel. They almost wipe out, and he slows to a stop before glaring at him. “That’s not funny, Mr. Invincible! Still human here, you know. We’re only about a mile out.” 

Derek just growls at him. “Need to run.” He practically tears Betty’s door open and scrambles out. And then he’s running into the surrounding trees. Stiles stumbles after him, though he slows down when Derek shifts fully.

He lets the wolf take control. One moment he was human, the next, fur covered his whole body up to his snout. Jackson follows, though he manages to slip out of his designer sneakers before his claws can rip through them. Scott hesitates but after an inscrutable look at Allison, he turns too, and the three of them frolic, run around, howl, and just play.

Allison walks and stops beside a watching Stiles. She thought she understood who Scott is, but she really, really doesn't. 

Stiles can't stop grinning.

 

END


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a conversation long overdue

“I still don’t get you, you know. It’s like you come here and became a totally different person. I mean, you didn’t even have a cellphone! I thought that meant you spent the last few years hiding in the woods living off squirrel and deer.”

“I let my plan lapse after Laura died,” Derek says softly, as if each word is being extracted from his mouth with rusty pliers. “There didn’t seem to be any point.” They are sitting in Stiles’ bed, in the dark, and Derek keeps an ear on Mr. Stilinski’s snores in the next room. 

“There’s a point now, doofus.” Stiles pokes at Derek’s chest a few times, until Derek growls and catches his fingers, then rearranging them so Stiles is trapped in his arms. “I mean, seriously, I will sext Jackson until he _buys_ you a phone.” The abject horror must show on his face because Stiles breaks down laughing.

“So. Jackson’s family, huh? That totally explains his mutant genes.” 

“We’re adjusting,” Derek says carefully. Then he ruins the silence by adding abruptly. “I never told you about Kate.” 

Stiles takes a deep breath and seems to hold it for a beat. He slips a hand down Derek’s arm wrapped around him and entwines their fingers. His heartbeat quickens a little.

“I didn’t know she was an Argent. I met her one summer at the pool. And she— I was young, flattered by the attention, thinking with my dick.” His voice is hoarse. 

Stiles headbutts him gently. 

“She messed me up, and that was before she—” He cuts himself off, and nuzzles Stiles’ neck to cover for the fact that he is almost hyperventilating. 

Stiles gets it. He squirms and turns around, and pushes Derek down on his bed. Then he rubs at Derek’s stubble affectionately and kisses the side of his neck, below his left ear. 

With Stiles practically covering his whole body, Derek breathes him in and closes his eyes, forcing himself to continue. “After the fire, Laura and I just drove around everywhere. I wasn’t really thinking; I was just following her lead. And then we got to New York. The city was noisy and smelly and overwhelming, but that helped somehow. It muted the memories, and helped with the ghosts.”

Stiles nudges him when he falls silent. “And Anna?” He murmurs into Derek’s ear. 

Derek pushes Stiles away a little. He resists, but finally flops beside him with a huff. “It was good, with Anna. I didn’t trust myself for a long time, but I took a chance because she was so different from Kate.” _Not so different after all_ , his mind supplies, but he swallows the words down. “I really loved her. And she loved me.” Another deep breath and he speaks again, almost in a rush. 

“And then one day I told her about what I was. And she couldn’t wrap her mind around it. She started drawing blood, collecting samples. She treated me like a science project, like she could reduce that part of me down into chemicals and chromosomes, just so it could fit in her world view. In the end, I broke up with her.” _I broke her._

But Stiles has this knack of reading him. “No matter how fucked up you left her, that didn’t give her the right to force her so-called cure on you. That’s not love, Derek.”

“Maybe not, but it’s what I deserve.” Derek sighs. He shouldn’t have said that. Too late. 

Stiles is suddenly sitting up. He clicks on the bedside lamp and Derek receives the full force of his glare while he’s still blinking. “So people have a tendency to go ga-ga over you. Go check your ego at the door, Mr. Tall, Dark and Broody.”

Derek frowns. “What does that even mean?”

Stiles looks up at the cobwebby ceiling like it holds all the answers. “I’m saying bad shit happens to good people. And life sucks most of the time. But that’s not a reason to give up on the good parts.” He grins down a little hesitantly. “I mean, maybe third time's the charm.” 

Derek shakes his head, a sinking feeling in his gut. “You're so young, Stiles. You haven’t even had the chance to explore your options. I’m not going to let you tie yourself to me.”

Stiles sighs. “So that's why you haven't said anything? What? Do you think I'll change my mind?”

Derek flinches. It's exactly what he thinks.

Stiles grabs his hand. “That's okay, you know. I mean, I wasn't really expecting flowers and chocolates from you, and I certainly don't want a repeat of the dead rabbit thing. So I think we'll do this my way.”

Derek raises an eyebrow when Stiles doesn't continue. “And what way is that?”

Stiles kisses Derek's cheek. “I don't wanna ruin the surprise. Now get out so I can jerk off in peace.”

“Stiles!” Derek growls and blushes, though he lets himself be rolled off the bed and lands in a crouch by the window. He feels his wolf rippling under his skin, and identifies the emotion belatedly as hope. He pushes it down anyway, and leans out to let the night air leach the heat from his body.

He’s already hanging from a branch on the tree outside when Stiles speaks ever so softly. 

“I'm not gonna be seventeen forever, Derek. I can wait for you.” 

\---

"I'm going out with Derek Hale," Stiles announces at the dinner table.

His father chokes on the meatless burrito. "You what?"

"Well he hasn't exactly agreed yet, but he's almost a sure thing." Stiles beams at his father. 

It's the first time in a long time that he's seen his son so uncomplicatedly happy.

"What makes you think he's gonna say yes?" The Derek Hale he once arrested was a closed off and damaged young man. Not exactly anyone's dream for a future son-in-law.

Stiles smirks. " _I_ have a plan."

Jeremy Stilinski groans and covers his face with his hands. 

THE ABSOLUTE END.

 

ADDENDUM THAT DOES NOT MEAN THERE’S A NEXT STORY, BECAUSE I’M CRUEL LIKE THAT:

Dr. A Lautier, the sign on the door proclaims. A long wire deftly manipulated and the lock clicks open. A shadow slips through the door and walks noiselessly into the crowded room. There are pictures, notes and print-outs tacked to the walls, and scattered everywhere, formulas half-erased on the windows, on screen monitors, and a long whiteboard half-flipped over. But the shadow heads straight for one small refrigerator glowing in the dark room. It contains a row of empty vials, save for one. A gloved hand reaches in and grabs the vial. 

It barely makes the news: a small fire breaks out in a laboratory in a New York college. They suspect arson, but the case grows cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally over. Sorry it's not as good as the first one, but at least it's longer? :P Now I can start a new fic. (Or finish my year old wips.)


End file.
